Hide and Seek
by JueJue
Summary: Santana Lopez is one of the Agency's top agents and her next mission is to track and take down rogue operative B. Pierce. If only it were that simple.
1. Prologue: Next Time

**Summary:** Santana works for the Central Intelligence Agency, assigned to take down rogue operative B. Pierce. This is their story.

A/N: Some terms that you may or may not know. I suggest you read these before you read the chapter unless you play Call of Duty and watch tons of action movies.

_Safety on a Gun_: It's a switch on pistols that you have to move over if you want to shoot, without it moved you can't shoot. Obviously a safety precaution.

_The Pit:_ Training grounds and home base for future CIA agents as a meeting place.

This one has been pulling at my brainsack for the past month and it's about time i write it out. Brittany may seem OOC this first chapter but, you'll see real Britty soon. I debated a long time of who to make the criminal and at first, it seemed obvious that Brittany should play good cop and Santana be the rogue but I started writing and this seemed more appropriate.

* * *

** Prologue: Next Time**

* * *

"Stop." Santana said and pointed the gun at Brittany, her figure between the iron sights.

Brittany paused only momentarily, slipping her cellphone into her pocket and brushing a couple strands of hair confidently past her shoulders as she turned to Santana. "Lopez", she acknowledged half heartedly. "You're good."

"Drop the gun, Pierce." Brittany did and Santana only grew more restless. The blonde rarely did as she was told and if she did, there was motive behind it.

As if sensing Santana's increase in tension, Brittany sought to draw more and more of it by waking several steps forward. "I'll shoot you," Santana warned.

"Do it," Brittany challenged, walking evenly paced still, wearing that smirk that only she knew how to wear. She paused only a two steps before her chest would have been point blank with Santana's gun. A long pregnant silence stretched between them before either one spoke. Santana's eyes never left the blonde's because she wasn't going to make that mistake _again_. "See? You won't do it."

"I will."

Brittany snorted, leaning forward slightly, voice dropping into a seductive whisper, "Sweetie, your gun is still on safety."

As soon as those words had left her mouth, leaving Santana momentarily paralyzed in shock, horror and- dare she say it- embarrassed, Brittany moved, slamming her hand on the other girl's, effectively knocking the gun out of their reach. "My assets are too important to you to jeopardize," she smirked, aware of the double entendre, "Or did Shuester request to bring me in alive? Or was that you trying not to hurt me? Maybe a Freudian slip?"

Santana ignored the taunts, focusing on dodging the Brittany's moves. She wasn't quick, not as quick as Santana was, but Brittany was smooth and strong, like a willow tree on a windy day. Should she land a hit it would leave more than a bruise, as Santana learned from their previous encounters.

"You never were good with the guns during our days in the Pit though San." Brittany laughed, ducking to avoid Santana's infamous right hook, " I remember when you shot Puckerman in the ass."

Santana gritted her teeth, trying not to get distracted by Brittany's words, choosing to focus on avoiding the next sets of melees and punches. "You know?" Brittany asked, eyes shimmering in the setting sun as if she enjoyed this, "I think, if things had turned out differently, you and I would have been great friends."

Santana made the mistake of scoffing at the egotistical assumption, the moment her mind metered even slightly from the problem at hand, she knew she had lost.

It's like always like this, Santana noted painfully as flawless white knuckles came into contact with her jaw, she makes the mistake of being drawn into those small comments, taunts, sexual perverses, reacting even the slightest of Brittany's remarks and she's sucked in. Into blue eyes and innocent-secretive smiles, threads of gold hair, the world seemed to darken to _just_ Brittany in front of her before expanding, filling it up with nothing but fine, long limbs and- Brittany landed another punch just above her chest, sending her flying back.

The pain flared then receded into the back of her mind far too quickly. It should've hurt more right now, as should her jaw and her aching feet and the cut on her leg that has stung for the past half hour but it doesn't. Santana only faintly recalled the smell of vanilla and lavender, the hotel's bar soap, as she stepped back and regained her footing.

She pushed at the invasive world, reminding herself that Brittany S. Pierce was just another agent gone rogue and she's done this before. Like putting down a rabies infested dog, the agency has a splinter and Santana Lopez is the girl they call. But there is just _this_ with Brittany, _this_ that is something in those cat like eyes that challenged all the control she had taught herself, _this_ that pushed at the boundaries of her sanity threatening to break all thresholds in her mind the moment she acknowledged Brittany as Brittany and not _just_ a job.

She's sure that Brittany knew this too.

Santana fought it though, refocusing on the movements of arms and legs. She doesn't need to beat Brittany at this, she just needed to hold out long enough for the team to find her. Still, when Brittany heaved forward a little too far, leaving an opening, Santana took the opportunity to get even with her.

And failed.

Her aim missed Brittany's side and it's only when Brittany sidestepped it to gracefully grab hold of the attacking arm and bend it behind her back that she realized it was a trap. It's too late though, even as Santana jabbed her elbow backwards hoping to strike Brittany, they were taught this their first year in the Pit, a simple bait and switch move to lure your overconfident enemy into attacking and then using that to turn around and put them in a bind.

It was a stupid move.

It was stupid and simple but too damn effective move because Brittany has both her arms painfully twisted behind her back. Santana bit her tongue, swallowing back any sounds of pain.

"Agent Lopez." Brittany sing songed, breath brushing against the shell of Santana's ear. "Top of her class, barely twenty five of age and already one of the CIA's top agent and I have the honor of surviving your terrors not once or twice but _three_ times."

"You should feel honored," Santana gruffed, poignantly ignoring the swell of breasts that was resting against her back, "I typically don't have to grace my target's presence that often."

"See? You and I could've totally been friends." Brittany laughed, all clear and pure, "Do I get a complimentary bouquet from you the next we meet then?"

_Next time?_ Santana thought as Brittany's hand traveled to the juncture between her shoulder and neck, expertly finding her pressure point and pressing down hard. The last thing Santana recalled before blacking out was the brush of a pair of lips, barely grazing her cheek.

* * *

If you have an higher level literary skills/experience, you'll realize that this scene is a direct parllelism of a sex scene only toned down.

Tell me what you think. Next chapter will be longer. -Jules


	2. Shoot Through Me Like A Bullet

Hey guys! Thanks for the reviews!

_Leli:_ I don't want to say their relationship is a love/hate relationship, the feeling isn't mutual. I'm trying to elaborate without giving out too much. There is tension and more depth to them than just love/hate.

_Anon_: Gosh i love your username! I shall call you Chuck!Anon because your review mentioned it! And, yes Britt is badass, i try to make her a bit more...competent without losing her innocence, charm and the infamous non sequiturs.

A/N: For those who have an interest in Jungian theory (it's applications in literature) and/or Freud, I challenge you to find the Freudian slips, complexs, fixations, who(or what/when) is the High Priestess, the Ego, the Persona, the Magician present. Look for Jung's theory of entropy starting from here.

Good to know:

_Nuclear Football_: Everywhere the president goes, a designated helper is there holding a gigantic suitcase. It's a computerized suitcase with instructions to launch a nuclear attack whenever the president wants. You've probably seen it in the movie Salt.

_ADD/ADHD_ are attention span disorders.

* * *

**Shoot Through Me Like A Bullet**

* * *

Santana Marie Annabelle Lopez was the first of many things in her family. The first granddaughter. The first early high school graduate, the first college graduate with a degree in business, the first to graduate graduate school- with honors, from Stanford even- and certainly, the first to make six figures.

Okay, the law school thing is a lie, she doesn't actually work for a law firm that focuses its time on international immigration and criminal cases spanning through different countries. Though she does make six figures and what she does is as equally honorable as winning a rape case.

And she thinks, after five years of hard work, saving lives and being nearly pushed out of the office for a mandatory 2 week vacation- something about labor laws-, the Agency would give her enough courtesy not to call her in.

Santana's phone rings from the living room during the family get together and one of the younger cousins from the kiddy table scrambles to get it for her. Her mother complains that the law firm overworks her when she says it's work related and excuses herself from the table. She avoids her _abuela's_ intense stare as she gets up.

"_I'm sorry_," Santana says in Spanish after a moment, meeting her elder's gaze with one of her own. To everyone else at this table, she could have easily excused herself, maybe feel a little guilty because her mama had only given them a two day notice of her arrival and they still all showed, but to her abuela? She couldn't. "_It must be important if they're calling me_."

"_This is family_," her abuela returns, giving a soft sigh that weighs a ton on her shoulders- she's sure everyone else feels that too- and then nods, stiffly. "_Go_."

It's _not_ family, Santana wants to say as she rounds the corner into the more secluded game room, it's not because papi isn't here.

She hears her stepfather, Daniel, say something about justice and always being on call but it only makes her tap the redial button on her phone harder.

Artie picks up on the first ring.

"Santana," He says sounding relieved on the other line. "We have a situation."

"This better be important."

"It is. Are you free?" He asks as if she actually had a choice. Santana quips a reply saying that even if she wasn't, it wouldn't change the situation.

"Right. Do you remember Brittany Susan Pierce? She finished just a year after you in Pit but..."

"No. I don't but I hope she has the nuclear fucking football or something because if you're calling me to ask for advice over a girl you might as well cut off your own balls before I do."

Artie huffs a chuckle, "No. No. She doesn't have the football but she did steal some files from the Archive."

Upon hearing that, Santana sighs, "Wheels, we have a digital copy of all the documents in the.."

Artie cuts her off, "We don't. Sue said we don't. She said there were some files too important to even put into the network so the Agency kept them in a vault with the Archives and Brittany broke in three days ago and we _seriously_ need you right now."

"I thought the Archives was in the Washington. Why not send in another agent in who isn't on vacation in Texas?"

"Because...Okay. Listen, the Archives vault has a second hand security system that when anyone enters, it releases nanobytes into the air, imagine super tiny tracking robots that you inhale." Santana wants to shutter, "We've been able to track her through the states but she's taken down all five of the operatives."

" And now she's somewhere in my vicinity and you are sending me out for some pieces of papers."

"No. Yes, sort of. She's seventy miles and getting closer to you. Sue says the papers are first priority, the girl second. Or both. Sue would want both."

"Sue wants the whole damn world."

Apparently, Sue was listening too because she can hear the headset being pulled from Artie followed by the sandpaper on chalkboard voice of one Sue Sylvester. "Lopez, right now I want you to find a car, yours, your neighbor's, steal one, ride a horse, whatever and stop this Pierce from getting those documents from getting out of our hands."

Santana really wants to snipe back and say something along the lines of if-you-want-it-so-bad-you-can-get-it-yourself but it's Sue and she already got away with bad mouthing her once without getting rocket launchered. She'd rather not push her luck. Instead, Santana swallows her tongue and says, "Copy that, _ma'am_," as she grabs her car keys.

Artie briefs her on the situation and sends over the profile of Brittany S. Pierce as she's driving down Highway 290. Upon seeing the girl's black and white photo, Santana briefly remembers her, she was at the party Puck had thrown for her after finishing her time at the Pit. The girl's got a clean record, parent's still alive, has been diagnosed with ADD, ADHD and dyslexia which made her struggle through school. The only thing truly impressive about Brittany Pierce was her endless list of skillsets of close combat, varying from muay thai and tai chi to kickboxing. There was no motive, no high profile case or deep cover works that could have sent her wayward but Santana likes to think that those are the easiest ones to go rogues, they're the ones you'd never expect.

By the time Artie is done briefing, Santana had left the city behind, the highway breaking into heavily forested area with two lanes each for a direction.

"Satellite imaging shows she's in a black convertible Posh with the hood down, heading your opposite direction. Take the next u-turn."

"Thank you my personal GPS," Santana says in her too sweet voice, just as she pulled the U. "Can you just change your voice to sound like Enrique Iglesias please?"

Artie chuckles and Santana thanks and hangs up on him a moment afterwards when she sees the black convertible in her rearview mirror. She moves to the other lane, allowing Brittany to pass her before accelerating so that they're almost driving side by side. Santana checks her surroundings once, then twice before rolling down the window and, with a swing of an arm, shoots out her right tires.

Santana feels a swell of pride rush through her as she hits both tires with just two shots, reminding herself she's a bitch ass, smartass, badass. Feeling cocky, can't resist sending her vacation ruiner a fake take-that smile. It's quite possibly the worst decision she's ever made in her life.

Santana locks eyes with a gorgeous blonde, hair waving wildly in the wind and it does something to her. There's that chill down her spine and her stomach sort of drops and flops around and she's sure she's stopped breathing for half a second. She has to blink away the sudden flood of sensations through her body and when Santana can refocus her attention on the situation, the blonde is already pulling into the grassy area between the lanes.

She halts her car behind the blonde's nice and shiny new, and probably stolen Nissan 350z, as she says, "Hands up, Pierce."

The hands do go up, so does her head, as if recognizing her voice. Quickly, she gets out of her car, handgun in her grasp,cuffs tucked neatly in the pocket of her blazer. It's too easy, Santana thinks, it's never this easy.

Upon seeing Brittany Pierce's face, she knows this was planned because no one in their right mind would drive in the daytime after having stolen top secret documents. No on would without fearing there may be an accidental bomb dropping from the Air Force. No one would do it and have a playful, quirky smile on their face.

Santana raises her gun to Brittany's face and tells her to get out of the car. Again, she complies too easily, getting out with too much grace that it makes Santana's skin crawl. She takes a look around for any passing cars, any movements in the bushes that could denote an ambush, for any reason the blonde keeps smiling that damn smile.

She finds none.

"Where are the documents?" Santana asks, stern and frank.

The blonde quirks her head and looking thoroughly confused, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, yes you do. Where are they?"

"Maybe Lord T ate it," Brittany replies, "And. You didn't show me your badge so you can't point a gun at me. Even Channing Tatum knows that."

Santana thinks Brittany may have just fallen off of the sane train and somewhere down the deep, deep dark rabbit hole when Brittany makes her first attempt at disarming her. Santana reels back just in time to fire two missed shots as Brittany tackles her to the ground.

They are a flurry of limbs, Santana using the momentum to get on top, readily aiming her gun but Brittany purposefully releasing the magazine just as she pulls the trigger. Santana throws the gun to the side and tries to clamp Brittany's arms to the ground with her knees. They struggle back and forth, trading blows that don't connect very well, the girl beneath her bucking wildly to try to fling her off. Just as she thinks she's got the edge on pinning her down, Brittany launches forward, banging her head on Santana's.

The pain is too much, she forgets to keep the pressure she's been putting on her hips to pin Brittany down and, as if Brittany had been expecting it, she rotates hips just enough so Santana topples over. The blonde is above her and dropping hard blows to her side and chest in a heartbeat. It doesn't last too long because Santana reaches out for the fallen magazine and clubs Brittany over the head with it.

They separate breathing heavily and locking eyes again. Santana specializes in this, catching wayward agents, going undercover, taking them outright with a sniper 500 yards away and there's always this moment of recognition that they're done the worst; gone against their training, their vows, their commitment to the Agency. She can always find guilt in their eyes because she knows there will always be that part of them that was _bred_ from their first days to live for the Agency.

But Brittany doesn't hold that sort of guilt. She doesn't, there is only confidence and calmness in clear blue eyes, laced with mischief and pride.

"Santana Lopez," Brittany says, almost surprised. "It took me awhile to remember why you looked so familiar. I remember you."

"Thats good." Santana is curt and wary as they circle each other, "Puck's party right?"

Brittany shakes her head, "Before that. We had the same ethics class for a little bit before you transferred departments. You spared with me a couple times too. But yes, I was at Puck's party for you as well."

Santana's surprised that Brittany remembers so much that she doesn't, she's flattered almost. "Why are you doing this?" she asks, "What sort of personal vendetta do you have against the CIA?"

Brittany bounces a little, shifting weight from foot to foot, "Thats me to know and you to find out, silly!"

The questions was Santana's last gesture of kindness for cooperation and a confession; upon hearing the spirited rejection and easy noncompliance, she kicks toward Brittany.

They dance a little, Brittany is really good with her footwork and Santana doesn't know exactly what hits her- actually she does, Brittany's fist- but one moment she's on her feet dodging and redirecting blows, the next moment, it feels like someone had just clobbered her over the head with a brick. The world shifts in her eyesight, turning and blurring as she feels herself hit the grassy floor.

Santana tries to force herself to get up but the pain was too much and she must've had a blackout for a couple of seconds because the next sure thing she knew was the rumble sound of her old Corolla starting up. Without her in it.

Seriously?

A Latina was getting car jacked. By a blonde white chick?

The universe must be laughing right now.

Gunshots ring past her and hit the ground close by though Santana's elbows give out in her attempt to stand up. She loses consciousness again knowing full well Brittany hasn't emptied her magazine yet.

* * *

Also, a little late for this but I just wanted to let you know that the italicized words are for emphasis or it's spoken in a different language. :)

Did anyone get the Channing Tatum reference that Brittany made?

Let me know what you think! Does this sound like Santana to you? Besides tension between her and Brit, do you feel the strain in her family? Comments, comments, don't wanna review? Shoot me a message!_ Let me know what you like and don't like!_


	3. Break Even

"'Cause when a heart breaks, no it don't break even." -The Script

A lot of character establishment here. Like, a lot. Please stay with me because the next chapter will drown you in Brittana feels.

A reminder that while this story is a thriller and action adventure, that I put a lot of symbolism in here. You'll see it start to appear more in later chapters but some people were asking me about Jungian theory and why I'd bother. It's a discovery, a journeywhen you're reading, whether thats on ff or an actual novel. What makes it more interesting is not just wander your way through the story but to pick up the little clues, it adds more character depth if you understand these symbols. :)

Reviews that I can't PM reply to:

Guest: To be honest, I just finished up the plot details for the story like five minutes ago and up until then, I only knew what was going to happen up to around Chapter 6. So when I read your review, saying "I can't wait to see what happens!" I was thinking "I can't wait to see what happens too!"

Chuck!Anon: Hello dear, thanks for the review and I love your namesake. ;3 You wanna know something? My major in college is engineering. And a minor in the arts. And to answer your question, yes. And remember in thermo, entropy is the tendency for things to 'break down', for a chaotic object, it will grow still, for organized structures to destructurize, keep things going towards equilibrium. So Jung said that for every 'good' thought we had, "save the hurt bird in my hand", theres an equal side of us that says "crush it in my hand" to counter the good.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Break Even**

* * *

Santana wakes up with what feels like world's worst hangover- minus the memory of getting shitfaced drunk. One look at the bright white fluorescent light and the feel of an IV in her wrist lets her know she's no where in the middle of a highway getting shot at or eaten by wolves, which is somewhat relieving. Beside her, a blonde sits reading _A Clockwork Orange_.

"Water," she croaks and Quinn gestures to the sippy cup sitting on the hospital's nightstand. Santana takes a long hard sip before asking for a status update.

"Of what?" Quinn snips casually, "Your thick head? It'll be fine as long as you don't get it clobbered with a baseball bat."

"The case, Q. What happened to the files?"

"Gone. Past the border of Mexico. Sue's scrambled an emergency team of specialists to look for it. We've got every available computer scanning live security footage looking for the girl. The FBI and feds are looking into it too but they can't do much since Mexico isn't under their jurisdiction."

"Damn," Santana curses, the hospital gown scratching uncomfortably at her skin. "Should have shot her when I had the chance."

Artie rolls in past the curtains of the recovery room, shaking his head knowingly. He settles opposite of Quinn giving her a quick nod of acknowledgment. "You're just lucky to even be sitting up right now, Santana. The five we sent before you? All in ICU. She shot down twenty seven men in a matter of ten minutes after leaving the Archives."

Santana huffed in frustration, the news not making her feel better.

"What about those nano-things?" she remembered. "Can we still...?"

Artie shakes his head again, "They're like pollen, millions of tiny dots on the computer screen. They get blown off easily and we track by concentration so they're all scattered by now. I can't tell if its her driving or a strong gust of wind moving them."

"And my car, have you tried tracking that?"

Quinn puts a hand on her shoulder. "Santana," she says calmly. "We're working on the situation. The Agency can handle this. Go home and spend time with your family. It's going to take more than a couple missing pieces of paper to cripple the American government. "

Artie nods in agreement. "Besides, regimes fall everyday. I tend to not weep over that, I'm American."

* * *

The four eyed dork can be a lot of things, Santana thinks, a geeky Avengers quoting nerd, a brat when he doesn't get what he wants, sometimes insensitive and sometimes overly sensitive about certain subjects- like his half body paralysis- but he really is considerate. When she is released from the hospital, it's Artie that has already called a cab and makes sure she's fully inside with enough cash to go from Houston to Corpus Christi.

What takes the cake is when he tells her to look through her text messages. He'd gone ahead and texted her mom the night before, telling her she was at an important emergency meeting with the law firm's partners and was staying overnight at the Marriott. She smiles at his hardy attempt at sounding like her though, it comes off as if she was a fifteen year old girl again.

Quinn texts her with a six digit code shortly after she finishes reading the conversation between Artie and her mother. Confused, she replies with a question mark. Quinn answers that with an address followed by a picture of a very nice shiny new car.

_It's yours, _says the caption below the picture. _The pin code is for the driver side door, you can find the keys with a cute sales rep named Eric._

Santana blinks a little, swallows down the knot in her throat because when did her two friends become angles? Not knowing what else to say, she texts back, _You didn't have to._

_Oh I didn't do anything except birth the idea. Artie handled the paperwork and it's coming from the CIA's limitless bank account. You can consider it an early Christmas bonus from the Agency & Co. _

_Thank you. _Santana writes back.

She sends that to both Artie and Quinn.

* * *

Its almost sundown when she arrives home from the dealership, sporting a new car and some mostly invisible bruises. For some reason, those have always hurt the most, the bruises that no one can see.

The house that her mother and stepfather live in now isn't the house she grew up in. Her father had owned a mechanic shop in Seattle where her parents had met, married and eventually raised her in. It wasn't until the end of her sophomore year that she learned of their divorce (by then already almost finalized) and by the start of her junior year, she was relocated to the south with her mother who had won most of the custody.

The house she's looking at now, with its evergreen trees, crispy grass and bricked layout isn't like the home Santana had grown to love. Seeing it always reminded her of the home she had before, of the life she had when her parents were together. But whatever, people have their issues, Artie had his legs (or, rather, their lack of use) and Quinn had a baby almost half her age now, she had divorced parents.

Another car catches her eye just as she's walking up the driveway, _abuela's _car. The relatives were supposed to have left already, not that she doesn't miss them, she does, but she feels as if they all gather to speculate on her and her success. More than just wishing her the best, their stares and glances look bore into her, waiting for a chink to appear or a crack to break, so that they can lean over and say _Look at that! Santana is no good!_ (_Mira aqui! Santana no esta buena!) _

Her grandmother though, she doesn't do that.

She doesn't look and stare to break Santana down. _Abuela_ looks at her and she feels as if she sees all that Santana tries to cover up. She sees all the impatience that lies behind her smile when Carlos uses her stuff without permission, the dirt beneath her fingernails, everything. That scares her more than what any of her relatives can do.

Her mother is waiting on the living room couch with Daniel and a glass of wine when Santana comes in, the look of expectation and disappointment curled into her fingers, lips and eyebrows. Daniel says hello and excuses himself.

"It was urgent." Santana explains, already anticipating the question.

"Just like last Christmas, was that urgent? And when your abuelo was in the ER, was that urgent too?"

"I try, mama. These things, they just appear and I have to tend to them." She doesn't like lying and at least, by being vague, she wasn't.

"Santana, your _family _comes first."

"And they _are_ first in my priorities, except when other people's lives are at stake."

"Do you know what it looks like? For me to invite everyone here. For you. Then to have you leave? _Por favor_, _Santana-"_

Santana snickers, "So that's why you're so irritated." The anger that seemed to lie dormant for so long boils in half a second, desperately wanting to spill out, "You always have to do this, don't you? You have to show everyone, at every chance you get that since you divorced that you could still raise me and- "

Her mother sighs, defeated. "When I am going to convince you that it has nothing to do with _him_?"

"It has everything to do with papi."

"Your grandmother is upstairs, Santana," it comes out resigned and tired, but also like a command. "In the guest bedroom. She's been waiting for you."

Santana begins climbing the stairs after she mumbles a goodnight to her mother. They never did have the same relationship after the divorce. It was as if a wall grew between them and nothing could break it down. They don't fight in the screaming at each other way, it was just small conflicts that they held different views in. By now, both of them were too tired and busy to argue the same arguements over and over again.

(Sometimes though, Santana wishes her mother would try more at convincing her that everything she did was wasn't to prove herself to her family. Sometimes, Santana wishes her mother would act like she cared for more than her reputation.)

She pauses a second at the guest bedroom's door, taking a deep breath in and then knocking hesitantly.

_Abuela_greets her spiritedly, telling her to come in and take a seat.

"_I hope I wasn't interrupting anything_," Santana says in Spanish just as her grandmother turns off the TV. "_I'm sorry i had to leave so abruptly at dinner. Is there anyway I can make it up to you, abuela?"_

The older woman just quietly laughs and sits beside Santana, hand coming up to press down her hair, eyes stopping and observing her features just as she had always done every time she visited. She'd always say _You grow more beautiful everyday, Santana, _just as she's saying it now.

"_Was it worth it?_" Her grandmother asks after a moment. When Santana gives a confused look, she asks again with clarity. "_Was the emergency worth leaving the family to tend to it_?"

Santana huffs the tenth sigh of frustration today, remembering the outcome of her run in with Brittany Pierce. "_If I had know it was going to turn out the way it did then probably not._"

_Abuela_ just smiles, "_Nevermind the outcome, did you learn something new and exciting? Family will always be there for you, Sanita, but would you have another chance at experiencing whatever you did yesterday again?"_

Santana has to think for a moment, the image of Brittany rising in her mind, hair haphazardly blowing in the wind sending jolts down her stomach and then getting beaten by someone who was her junior. "_No,_" she answers, almost laughing. "_I don't think I ever experience that again_." She wouldn't want to.

"_Then it was worth it_."

They talk for a little bit more, Santana tells her grandmother about the new car her company had put out the down payment on as a gesture of apology and as an early Christmas bonus. (She figured a free, brand new car would be a little too absurd.) They say goodnight and Santana heads in own room for a nice long shower.

There, she's finally allowed time to think, letting her mind wander about home and work, her family and friends. It was the first time in a long time that she's finally gotten some peace and quiet time to herself.

Things were different at home then at the Agency's HQ in New York, where she was stationed. Things done at the HQ was always done in a haste, always ready to respond to some emergency, always high on alert and always busy. She had an apartment close by but it was used for showering and sleeping purposes only, sometimes not even that.

CIA work was more boring than than the movies made it, often she would sit at her desk and read through unsolved cases, do background searches, the boring stuff or train. When she was assigned a mission, there was more sitting, waiting, researching, preparing and anticipating rather than sudden gunfights and explosions.

Still, even with nice water running down her body and the slowed pace of a regular life, she couldn't get herself out of work mode. Santana couldn't stop thinking about her latest and greatest failure yet, against an agent that was younger and supposedly less talented. She keeps replaying the events leading up to her failure, analyzing it to make sure it doesn't happen again. Belatedly, Santana reminds herself she is on vacation but it's too late, Agent Pierce- or Brittany Pierce, Santana didn't know what to call her sometimes- with her long blonde hair and bubblegum smile had sunk in too deep for her to let go so easily.

There was the pride factor in this as well, besides the issue of national security,.Specifically, the pride of being a Lopez. Papi had always said that it ran in the family, their inherent stubbornness and seemingly endless willpower to complete whatever they started, especially when others told them they couldn't do it. (Though she'd like to think this also came from her mom's side of the family as well, seeing how _abuela_ and her mother acted.)

A Lopez just doesn't fail.

By the time she's out of the shower, hair soaking wet and matted down, she already has Brittany Susan Pierce's file pulled up on her smartphone.

Artie had briefed her but it was nice to see all the information condensed into blocks and grids, complete with details. Again, she couldn't help but think, on the surface, there was nothing special about Brittany. What she saw yesterday proved otherwise. Was the dumb blonde act just a facade? Is there a third party in this? Why hadn't the CIA flagged her as a possible traitor? Was there more to Brittany than meet the eye?

(Did she seriously just quote Transformers? Apparently so. She needs to stop hanging out with Sam and Artie.)

Moreover, why not just send the documents via mail? Or take pictures of it and send it? Why would Brittany risk driving across the border where they could have easily detained her. She didn't even see the files, how did she not know Brittany was just a really good decoy? There were too many questions, too many factors but the one that stuck out to her was why didn't Brittany just shoot her _before_ driving off?

Unless she wanted Santana alive. She couldn't help but scoff at the absurdity of the situation.

Santana reads Brittany's files once more, something pinging at the back of her mind when she reads the Health segment.

Brittany's dyslexic.

She hits the speed dial on her phone, number six set to Sam's number.

Besides Artie, who specializes in communications technology like hacking and networking, Sam is the only other person she knows who works with the Agency's tech all day. Although his job was a bit different from Artie's and involved facial, fingerprint and body recognition. To this day, Santana's not too sure what exactly he does since they've only worked one official case together- The BanglaIndia case- but whenever something needs to be found, she calls Sam.

"Trouty," she says when he picks up, "Are you up playing Call of Duty?"

"It's a Saturday night with double XP weekend, what else takes higher priority?" Santana could almost feel his sheepish, dopey grin from the phone.

"Have you died yet?"

"No." Santana waits a good fifteen seconds. "Yeah now I am. Damn them snipers. How can I help you?"

"Can you run a quick search for me, through all the hotel data bases for a scramble of letters? National and international ones."

"A scramble of letters?"

"Not an exact name, just names that have certain letters in them."

"Yeah. I'll have to write up a script for it but..."

"Can you do it or not?"

"Yes." Sam sounded more confident this time so she spells out Brittany Pierce, Brittany S Pierce and other common variations. Just as the searches are running, Sam suddenly asks if this is work related.

Santana grumbles a yes.

"Is this about the failed mission?" She doesn't like that word. Fail. That's just something she isn't. "Quinn said something about not letting you get ahead of yourself because of vacation reasons."

She rolls her eyes, "Look. It'll help me sleep better at night if you get this done. Just this one little favor, please?"

"Fine, fine. The searches are going to take a while because I'm not at the office so can I let you go? I'll call you back if I find anything alright?"

"Don't get stuck playing your fake shooting game, Sam." Santana warns, "'Else I will gets on and so up in your grill, your kill/death ratio will be zero."

"I love it when you show your lesbro side to me, Santana." Sam says, laughing. Santana's cheeks warm and she was going to say something about not being completely sure but he's already hung up.

She's not _gay_, not for sure anyways.

David Beckham is still hot to her.

Santana is more like 97.996% sure because while his abs are nice looking, the idea of going down on the man makes her stomach lurch. Not that anyone needs to know. Sam only found out because they dated during Santana's Pit days and they broke up shortly after she graduated.

Somehow, he had miraculously put somethings and somethings together and made it equal four.

"Are you gay?" He had asked, a couple days after Puck had thrown that congratulations party for her. She was barely done setting her stuff up in her brand new office as a CIA agent when he came in with a cup of coffee, asking the question as if he were asking what she wanted for lunch.

"No." Santana remembered her cheeks flushing, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up straight. "Remember I'm your girlfriend?"

Thinking back to it now, she couldn't have sounded anymore guilty or defensive.

Sam just leaned against her desk, toeing the carpeted floor nervously. He shrugged then, saying, "I don't know. Just some of the things you do and the way you act and it would make sense that-"

"So if you sing Justin Bieber songs and you wear your hair like a mop, you are a Justin Beiber?"

Sam shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Thats not what I'm saying," he mumbled. "It's that.. you're like a really awesome girlfriend and a great friend and sometimes, I like to do stupid things that annoy you but you still have me around. It's nice of you but sometimes, it feels as if you don't want _me_ around. Like you have to have me and maybe, I don't know. You could be a lesbian."

The word shakes through Santana like an earthquake, starting at her stomach and making its way to her fingertips as she struggles to remain calm and collected.

"Well I'm not."

"But..." Sam gulped nervously, as if swallowing down words. "...If you happen to you know, swing that way, I wouldn't care and we'd be friends still and hell, I'll help you pick up girls, if you want to."

"If you want to, I mean. But you just said you're not gay so," Santana continued to stare at him, almost in awe because when did Trouty Mouth grow a brain and three sets of balls? "Or you could swing both ways, that would be _cool_. But not cool like I want you watch you and another girl or anything, that wouldn't be cool, unless it cool with you. Of course it wouldn't be, that'd be creepy right?"

"I'm just going to go now." Sam said after a moment of awkward silence where she continued to look at him, face wiped of all emotion.

Santana could only nod.

She's glad though, that he did approach her. Sam was the last person she had ever expected to figure out but he did and he took it gracefully. She came out to him shortly after the incident, told him about how she'd always guessed since high school but could have never really accepted it.

Santana is still having trouble with that now. Was she ever going to be ready to be a raging lesbian? Maybe, maybe not but Sam sometimes sends her pictures of girls he thinks is cute asking for her opinion and it's relieving to say "Yeah, she's hot." without having the fear of being judged.

No one else knew though. Lately, she had been trying to tell Quinn and Artie, though they've all been busy. Every time Santana tries, she throat dries. Sam says it's okay. Says, when it's time, the words will just flow. She's thankful for that.

(Even though she's pretty sure his advice came from some movie or video game.)

Santana falls asleep considering telling her family and like the first strike of a match, the idea flares into life only to wither into a small flame in the back of her mind, snuffed out completely with a gust of wind. A temporary moment of insanity, she thinks before sleep consumes her.

* * *

She dreams of Brittany. Of weathered houses with rain and a broad, white beach beneath an endless sunset. Of madness and golden light. Of familiar bodies and featureless faces- except for Brittany's- whose long nose and pink lips and spray of freckles feel too outlined, too real.

Where all else was blurred, there was Brittany, bolded, underlined, colors saturated and standing out from the whirl of grays and muted purples.

That should've been enough indication that the girl was no good.

* * *

Santana wakes up at six something, phone vibrating loudly next to her.

"Yes, Sam?"

"I have a match to Brittany Pierce under the name of Catt Piny Briene. It's in California though." Santana thinks back to Brittany's profile, where it noted that she had two cats.

"Can you access the security cameras to confirm the identity?"

Santana heard typing and then a groan of disappointment, "It's a low grade hotel, they don't have any besides ones facing the lobby and entrances to the rooms."

Santana waited.

"So..."

"So access yesterday's recordings of the room she's staying in and see if you can get a match on the girl."

"_Oh._" Sam types some more, "I can't. The cameras that should be looking at her room isn't working properly. Out for maintenance."

"Its her. Send in a team."

"Santana, I can't just request a team based off of a name matching Brittany's and some broken camera."

"Fine, then transfer me to Sue." Santana was sure, beyond sure. Something in her gut told her she was right about this.

Sam mumbles something about Quinn going to put him in the doghouse if she finds out. Santana rolls her eyes and hopes Sue is in a good mood.

But Sue isn't. Which isn't a surprise, Sue hadn't been in a good mood since 1960, the year she was born. The woman rejected Santana's request almost instantly and she knew better than to argue back. Instead, she books the fastest flight to California.

Her mom stops her in the living room, already up and ready for work.

"I'm going fly to see Papi today," Santana says stiffly, "I'll be back on Tuesday." That was three days from now.

If her mom was startled or taken aback by the comment her face didn't show it. She just nods after an apprehensive moment and tells her to have a nice time.

Santana pauses at the doorway, heaving out a heavy sigh. Quickly, she sets her small suitcase down on the floor and glides back into the kitchen, hugging her mother before going. It's stiff, somewhat awkward because they're leaning and theres barely a return hug but she feels her mom's breathe a breath of relief.

Thats the thing about family. No matter how much you hate them for their mistakes, how many wrongs they've done, Santana can't help but still love her for all the times Santana's made her mistakes and came back crying, her mama was always there to hug her back with welcome arms.

Besides, with the job that she really does, the one that involves guns and people _dying_, the one that reminds her that theres a possibility that this time could be the last time Santana walked out of the house, that the last moment she had with her mother that birthed, fed and raised her was one full of tension and levied anger.

* * *

|This chapter was supposed to be twice as long but the part where I had stopped at felt weird, didn't feel so conclusive so I cut it off and I'm ending this chapter here. :)

Mmm...Tell me what you think of San's family. And her friends. The overall dynamic of the characters present. :) Also, if anyone wants to take a guess on why the chapter is named Break Even, please do!


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